


Rage, Rage, Against the Dying of the Light

by GrannyBoo



Series: The Dire Claimed [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Exploring Fjord's Warring Natures, Faked Master/Slave dynamic, Forced Punishment, Graphic Violence, Headcanon backstory for Fjord, M/M, Marking, Post-zadash, Pressured Abuse, Sorta spoilers for 2x16, tw: abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-04-30 16:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14500701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrannyBoo/pseuds/GrannyBoo
Summary: Running.Fjord was familiar with that.-or-Fjord is forced to confront his warring natures while protecting Caleb from the horrors of his lineage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoy this horrorshow, it is going to get graphic, let me tell you now. Lots of violence, maybe some sexual content but not likely on the latter.
> 
> Feel free to scream at me on tumblr at agentoakysart or leave a comment below.

**_ Chapter One _ **

Running.

Fjord was familiar with that. The rush of adrenaline. The fear. The _panic_ that overwhelms you when something pursues you, tirelessly, and desiring nothing less than your absolute ruin. Fjord was used to the intangible presence of his past dogging him for years. His patron. The sea. And before, in the sharp, scathing, cold of the mountains and tribe he’d been born to.

Running was something he knew how to do. And he did it well. He changed his name. He cut his hair, changed his clothes. He took metal to his flesh and filed down his tusks, cut his nails down from their talonesque points and became something else, a façade he played well enough that even he forgot he was nothing more than a half-breed born from violence and blood-shed. He tried _anything_ to help him hide away from the looming and oppressive memory of the darker half of his ancestry and the horror he would have been capable of if he hadn’t had been so close with his mother.

If he hadn’t watched her die and run like the scared little blood-tainted creature he was.

It had been pure luck, escaping from the mountains. He was sure his tribe thought him dead. The memory still surfaced in his worst nightmares at times; the cold turning his skin from its vibrant green to a sickly ashen teal, the pain tearing through him as he forced his frostbitten limbs forward, the roars of the tribe following him into the wilderness until he’d found an old, raided caravan.

Sometimes, on the days where sleep evaded him, and he became delirious with exhaustion as he hid from the visions that plagued his attempts at rest, he wondered if he was really here, in Wildemount, travelling with these strange and wonderful people. Or if he’d fallen asleep in that caravan and never woken again. If all of these adventures and journeys he’d undertaken were real or just the fevered hallucinations of a little boy, freezing to death under the blankets of a dead man in the mountains.

It thankfully never got much further than that. Those thoughts would dig their claws in, snarling and hissing as they were banished from his mind by a half-hug from Molly, or an entirely unprompted (but not horribly unwelcome) piggyback from Jester.

He managed to become comfortable. Relaxed, even, with his new companions as they travelled further and further north, finally leaving Zadash after the events with the High Rictor and The Gentleman. Their party were jovial, trading stories from their brief moments of separation in their plans and leaving moments of quiet for Ulaag’s death and the tension that had built up between them over distrust and secrecy. While they had come together in the end, there was still a guarded nature to their comradery. Friendly, but not too familiar.

Especially between Fjord and Caleb. They’d yet to have a proper conversation about what had occurred in the High Rictor’s home. The blade to Caleb’s throat, the threatening glow of eldritch energy directed towards Nott over a scroll that could have meant nothing at all or the already struggling plan’s complete unravelling.

It had been hard to hold a conversation with Caleb beyond the absolutely necessary these past few weeks.

Which led them to the silence that sat between them as he took position to the left of the cart Caleb was steering while Jester and Nott chattered to each other on the other side, Molly up the front and Beau at the back while Yasha dozed in the back of the cart, having taken the last watch the night before. They’d travelled without issue for a few hours now but taking shape in the distance seemed, a number of tents were being pitched, the off-white canvas and the shifting flags giving Fjord pause.

“Why are the Crownsguard all the way out here?” Jester mused, snaking Toilet left and right on the dirt road as they grew closer, sitting up as high as she could on her saddle as if it would help her see any better. “Do you think they’re starting their own circus?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s stay the course and if they get squirrely, let’s bolt, yeah?” Molly called back, receiving murmurs of agreement in return.

There was a flurry of motion within the encampment. Soldiers darting back and forth between the growing population of tents, barked orders from tense looking officials and large barricades being mounted, primarily focused towards the mountains in the west, vicious wooden barbs being tied to the outside of them by shaky looking guardsmen.

“ _HALT!”_

The party slowed to a stop, a pair of uniformed men approaching, both human in appearance, or as human as you could look in full plated armour and helmets.

“Turn around, the road is closed,” the one on the left, a burly looking man with a tanned complexion and a large black beard that spilled from the chin of his helm.

“Why is it closed?” Jester chirped from the side. “Is it a circus? ‘Cause white-ish tents aren’t very good at attracting people. They look like dirty underpants,” she pointed out, receiving looks of bemusement from the guardsmen.

“The road’s been closed. Under order of his Majesty, King Dwendal. So turn around and head back-“ the man paused, his eye catching Fjord’s. “Where are you all headed?”

“The north,” Molly replied with a smile, leaning into the guardsman’s line of sight. “My friends and I have some business in Rexxuntrum,” The guardsman’s gaze was fixed on Fjord.

Fjord recognised that look. And he knew Molly recognised it as well but the man didn’t seem to bat an eye at the two tieflings, just the half-orc.

“Something botherin’ you, sir?” Fjord asked politely. The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Where you from, son?”

“The Menagerie Coast. Born and raised.”

There was this moment of tension, palpable to the point where even on the cart, Caleb was subtly reaching for his diamond, ready to defend them while they ran.

“And your parents?”

“Gods above, Venn, he’s just a traveller,” the other guardsman cut in, a younger man, probably in his mid-twenties with scruffy blonde facial hair and a smattering of freckles on his cheeks and nose. “I’m sorry about him. We’re placed here ‘cause something’s claimed the mountains to the west and villages and caravans are being raided pretty regularly. He’s just stressed and has forgotten his _manners_ ,” the younger guardsman insisted, giving a pointed look to his companion who glowered, keeping his eyes on Fjord.

“You know its rude to stare,” Yasha’s voice piped up from the back of the cart, leaning against the side with her greatsword in her grasp, her eyes narrowed and chin raised in a challenge.

“In any case, we happen to be accomplished adventurers with many a mystery and monster hunt under our belts,” Molly crowed, waving at the party over his shoulder, the ostentatious gesture hiding the calculated gesture within and every could hear that hum underneath his words as he cast his charm spell on the guardsman. “I’m sure we could be of some assistance if we could be compensated with un-hindered passage to the north?”

“We have everything well in hand, now turn around-“

The guardsman’s words were cut short, drowned out by the thunderous crash that sounded behind them, tents falling and dust rising in the wake of what looked like a runaway cart that had plowed through the encampment, horses letting out piercing whinnies as they struggled through the wreckage, thrashing at the soldiers who attempted to get too close.

There was a moment of confusion, sparse shouted orders from the officers and the shuffling of wreckage before the first war cry rumbled in the air beyond the camp, joined by another, and another and _another_ until a chorus of bellowing calls rang through his head, surrounding them from the west, the north, the south. Orcs. Lumbering beings, launching boulders and logs at the guardsmen and their tents, taking all those who couldn’t run fast enough and tearing them to pieces before Fjord’s eyes and suddenly he was back. Back in the mountains of his birthplace, watching his clan bring in their catch…The only reason Fjord kept his head were Yasha’s sharp reflexes and her great sword, parrying a heaving greataxe before it could connect with his flesh.

A snarling green face ducked into his eyeline, golden eyes meeting his own before he was struck with a bare hand, thrown to the side like a ragdoll. Fjord's head swam, the forms of his companions darting in his vision until a pair of bandaged hands curled around his arm, struggling to lift him up to his feet. Caleb. The man’s russet hair fell into his blue eyes, wide and full of fear as they darted around like a frightened rabbit’s. The expression was familiar. _Plaything_ , that snarling voice in the back of his head called Caleb, _practice_.

He shook off the fog and scrambled to his feet, watching as the others in the Nein were corralled, hidden behind the wall of soldiers firing at the orcs as they bombarded their line, launching alchemist’s fire and arrows and whatever projectiles they could, the shattering of glass and sudden burst of flame and smoke between Caleb and Fjord, and the rest of their party rose; a barricade between them and safety. Fjord’s eyes met Molly’s, the tiefling shouted something at them, muffled through the chaos of the camp but he glanced towards Caleb, seeing the still panicked look on his face and the rapid rise and fall of his chest in what was nearing hyperventilation.

But the orcs hadn’t noticed yet. They were fighting the soldiers, snarling in orcish between them. Fjord and Caleb were sheltered by the encroaching forest. They could run. They could hide and escape long enough to circle around, to try and rejoin their friends. Fjord’s hand curled around Caleb’s wrist, holding tight while his other hand summoned the falchion to his grip; a comforting trinket more than a useful weapon in these circumstances where he would be overrun and ripped to pieces before he could even swing once.

Golden eyes fixed on him. Figures shifted, moving towards him and Caleb.

And like always, like the first two decades of his life-

He was running.


	2. Chapter 2

**_ Chapter Two _ **

Branches struck him, panic pushed him forward as he pulled Caleb along, darting left, then right, ducking under felled trees and back-tracking.

He pulled out every trick he could think of to throw them off his and Caleb’s trail, but he could hear them still, the barked orders of the hunters as they gave chase. Caleb hadn’t said a single word, breathing heavily while he tried to keep up, dragged along by Fjord’s grip. They couldn’t outrun them.

There’s no chance.

Fjord slid down an embankment, shoving Caleb into the hollowed out roots of a hulking tree, ducking down in front of him to keep him hidden from view.

“They’re gonna catch us,” Fjord’s voice was sharp, panicked and certain as Caleb shook his head frantically, murmuring hurriedly in a chaotic mix of Common and Zemnian but Fjord gripped Caleb’s shoulders and held him still. “They’re gonna catch us, I’m gonna convince them not to kill us, okay? But we have to stay together, you _stay behind me, Caleb_ ,” Fjord ordered. It took a moment for it to sink in and Caleb nodded. Then he was tearing off his coat and his book holsters, bundling them up as the rumbling steps of their pursuers drew closer.

“Come on, Caleb, they’re nearly here,” Fjord hissed just as Caleb shoved the bundle deeper into the tree roots, letting out a startled cry when Fjord dragged them out. A snap of the fingers and Phrumpkin appeared, letting out a soft distressed mewl as Caleb ordered him to stay with the books and to stay quiet. There wasn’t long between the pair stepping out from underneath the tree, Fjord’s falchion at the ready and Caleb shielded behind him, and the first of the orcs crashing into the clearing. There was no hesitation from the first, a roar echoing as it tried to strike Fjord, only for it to burst into flame, a quick glance behind him showing the glowing crystal spinning in Caleb’s hands, releasing yet another burst of energy, this time hissing as it made contact with another orc’s skin.

The scorched one attempted to strike again, hindered by the burns crackling on its blackened and bubbling skin, falling with little more than a gurgling shriek when the falchion pierced its throat. The other made a grab at Caleb, twisting, harder and harder until Caleb screamed and a sickening crack forced him to drop the diamond, the scuffle covering it under a layer of dirt and grass until the glow was no longer visible.

“ _STOP!”_

Fjord’s voice rang out in orcish, eldritch energy billowing from his free hand before it struck the orc that had Caleb in its grasp, its talons catching on Caleb’s arms as it retracted its hand. More surrounded them, staring at the scene; two orcs cringing on the forest floor as Fjord took his place between them and Caleb once more, falchion high and teeth bared.

“ _Drop your weapon, half-breed.”_

The order came from a behemoth of a creature. The others parted for him, revealing his intimidating image; 7’5” easily, grey-green skin interrupted with carvings and scars, yellowing teeth decorated with piercings and carvings of their own as he bared them to Fjord and Caleb, a thick cloak of animal skins and metals alike hanging over his broad shoulders.

“ _No.”_

“ _This isn’t bravery, filth. Drop the blade or die slower and die last,”_ the leader leered at Caleb, raising his blade as he stalked closer. Fjord’s eyes caught Caleb’s form, curled in on himself, cradling what had to be at least a broken wrist, dripping with red blooming from the deep gouges up his forearm.

“ _I will die long after you have finished rotting,”_ Fjord snarled, the dark swirling energy of his patron enveloping him in an eerie purple glow before it darted forth, crawling up the orc’s limbs to its chest, then its head, seeping into his flesh and flickering into his eyes as he let out a howl, clawing at his face. Piercings tore from flesh, digging into his skin in pain and terror as Fjord strode forward, slashing at its torso. The pain from the blade shocked the orc out of his panic, eyes bloodshot and blood dripping from the gouges in his cheeks and lips.

Fjord was reminded once more how physically unimposing he was in comparison to his comrades when a meaty green-fleshed hand wrapped around his throat and lifted him off the ground with no difficulty, his lungs screaming in protest as he was robbed of all air, dulled claws digging into the hand to no avail.

“ _Your meat sack slave will barely feed our dogs. But you will feed only worms,”_ the orc hissed in Fjord’s face. With the last of his quickly fading consciousness, Fjord raised his hand, placing it on the creature’s face and, with a barely-there grin, loosed another blast of eldritch energy directly into its eyes. The screech it let out didn’t make it to Fjord’s ears before he was slammed into the ground, teeth slicing the inside of his cheek and temple catching something sharp, a stream of blood making its way down his face.

He only had a few seconds.

He pushed himself up, falchion in two hands as he snarled, burying the blade as deeply as it would go in the chest of the hunched over orc, meeting the resistance of its spine for only a moment, a wet crack and slide before it jutted out of his back. Then everything was still.

Fjord’s eyes stung with sweat and one slicked with blood tinting the world around him pink as he watched the other orcs. They didn’t approach. They snarled, they shoved each other but none were sure if they should approach.

He killed their commander. He needed to cement his win. He needed to claim his title as victor.

The falchion was dripping as he drew it out of the corpse of the orc with a sneer of disgust. Holding his chin up, teeth bared as he let out a bellowing roar he hadn’t needed to use in his adult life. He wasn’t sure if he was even capable of it but the primal rumble behind it that spoke of violence should they approach settled the snarling voice in the back of his mind.

 _“Filthy half-breed-“_ one of the orcs snapped but Fjord’s eyes caught theirs and the gold flickered purple for a brief moment.

“ _Tainted blood was enough to cut down your leader. Your corpse will be next, and I will cut my name into its flesh so your clan will know what to call the plague you bring on it if you **question my victory.”**_

Fjord’s vicious threat seemed to do what it needed to. None approached. He backed up, making sure Caleb was behind him and caught his gaze. He was in pain, a twisted grimace on his face but Fjord couldn’t risk showing worry. He stood tall, falchion at the ready.

“ _And what_ is _your name, half-breed.”_

An older orc-woman, black hair greying and a scar marring her face deep enough to obscure her entire left eye stepped forward.

 _“What is the name of the plague Grikga was felled by,”_ she asked once more, a hint of mocking in her tone.

“ _I am Larhak. The Forsaken. Son of Adrok the Infernal,”_ Fjord bit out, the name causing an uproar amongst the orcs watching the scene.

 _“Strong blood but far from home. Why are you this far north, Devil’s Son?”_ she pushed, stalking around Fjord and Caleb. Fjord wanted to move, he wanted to keep him between this woman and his companion but he couldn’t flinch. If he flinched, the illusion of calm he had would drop and they wouldn’t last a minute.

“ _My father has softened in age. He speaks of_ trade _. Of_ contentment _with the land and spoils we have. I will not align with weak willed garbage,”_ Fjord spat the blood filling his mouth on the forest floor with a snarl. “ _Our people are made to conquer. To claim what we desire and_ burn all else,” he declared, a few assenting grunts from the onlookers giving him some semblance of relief but he didn’t show it on his face. He watched the orcish woman and stared into her eyes.

“ _Well. Forsaker of the Devil. Our clan will give you the hunt you need to warm that hellish blood of yours,”_ she announced, glancing at Caleb. “ _Your flesh-bag is bleeding. Would you allow the others to take it for food or carve it up yourself for its failure to remain unharmed?”_

The snarl that ripped from his throat startled both him and the orcish woman and he dared not look at Caleb to see his reaction.

“ _He is my trophy from the flesh-bags by the roads. Any who touch him will meet the same fate as these piles of waste,”_ Fjord growled, kicking the corpse of the still sizzling orc Caleb had burnt with his acid. His hand curled around the wizard’s uninjured arm, tugging him along beside him, staring down any who got too close. Caleb was trembling in his grasp.

“Fj-“

“ _Quiet!”_ Fjord snapped, looking into Caleb’s eyes. He held his gaze and for the briefest of moments, he tried to convey a silent message.

‘ _Please play along. I’m sorry, please just play along.’_

Caleb remained silent and followed along, trying to keep his pained gasps to a minimum.

-

When the pack settled, halfway between the forest clearing and the clan’s camp, Fjord insisted on sequestering himself away with Caleb, at their own fire, claiming distrust until they meet with the clan leader. The older orcish woman nodded, leaving them to their own devices. Fjord made sure their fire was large enough to block the sight of him tending to Caleb’s arm, trying to sort through the mess of emotions and thoughts clouding his brain.

“It won’t heal properly like this,” Caleb murmured, half delirious with pain and blood loss.

“I have a few potions-“

“If you give it to me now, it will heal wrong. It will be much weaker. It needs to be set before it can heal,” Caleb hissed as Fjord accidentally brushed the raw edge of one of the gouges.

“Fuck. Caleb, I’m so sorry,” Fjord unwrapped the red rope around his arm and took the cloth wrap to bind the bones after he…

“You got us out of there alive, Fjord. You did well and have nothing to be sorry for,” he replied, his blue eyes glowing golden in the firelight. Fjord sighed, holding out the piece of rope to the wizard.

“Bite down on this,” he urged gently. Caleb took the rope and held it between his teeth, turning away from where Fjord was gently prodding at what seemed like, luckily, a clean break in his forearm, as opposed to a shattered wrist. Miles better in comparison but still painful if the muffled scream behind the red rope was anything to go by as Fjord pulled the bones apart and forced them back into place. Caleb looked barely conscious, a quiet whimper escaping as Fjord gathered a few sticks and bound his arm. By the time he’d finished, Caleb was out cold, leaning heavily into Fjord’s side.

‘ _What a clusterfuck,’_ Fjord thought to himself, laying Caleb as gently on the ground as he could, watching over the man. After a few hours, the warmth of the fire and the exhaustion of the day dragged him to sleep.

-

“ _Awake Lahrak. We meet the clan leader today,”_ the orcish woman called, kicking dirt over Fjord and Caleb’s fire and startling him awake. It took Fjord a few moments to recall the events of the previous day but the memories settled in his stomach like a stone. Caleb blinked blearily, darting back when the orc stepped closer, reaching for his arm.

“ _Do not handle my things,”_ Fjord bit out, gripping his blade tightly and staring darkly at the woman. She grunted, peering down at the cloth wrappings and the matching greys in Fjord’s clothing.

“You must be worth much,” she mused in common, surprising both Fjord and Caleb. “To warrant such _care_ from your owner.” Caleb hesitated, looking towards Fjord.

“His value is mine to determine,” Fjord replied, stalking over to Caleb and grabbing his arm, dragging him to his feet and towards the rest of the pack while the woman remained behind, watching them carefully.

“Why don’t we just run?” Caleb whispered, keeping his head down and his hair obscuring his face, hoping nothing could hear him in the empty stretch of plains between where’d they’d slept and where the majority of the pack were.

“They would chase us for fun, catch us, and if we’re real lucky, they’d kill us before they ate us,” Fjord answered, tugging the human a little closer. “Please, just trust me. I’ll get us back to the others but you need to follow my lead. Can you cast any magic at the moment?”

“Not with my arm like it is. I am rusty at non-somatic casting,” Caleb murmured, quieting as they closed the gap between them and the other orcs, receiving filthy looks from some and indifferent sniffs from others.

“It’s gonna be fine. Just…don’t talk to anyone, don’t look at them and stay with me,” Fjord urged.

“Fjord-“

“And don’t call me that. If you have to get my attention, call me…Call me Lahrak,” the name tasted bitter and made his skin crawl. But if they were going to survive he needed to become that creature his father wanted him to become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of brevity, dialogue entirely in italics are in orcish or some language other than common while standard text is common. 
> 
> For the most part, all dialogue between the orcs and Fjord is in orcish really.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the beginning of all the Not Okay this fic is gonna be. Hope some of you stick around to the end. I'm so sorry.

**_ Chapter Three _ **

Fjord hadn’t felt this level of unease in years. Not since he was a child, dragged along by the arm by his father through the camp to show off the perfect new tool they would use to infiltrate the nearby settlements; something to send in, ‘helpless and kind’. To burn the towns down from the inside before his clan set to work tearing its people to pieces.

Trailing behind him with red rope bound around his wrists as a further show of ownership was Caleb, his head down and mouth shut as instructed but Fjord didn’t think Caleb would have spoken much anyway even if he hadn’t have told him; his eyes darted rapidly and Fjord could practically smell the fear rolling off him in waves as the orcs of the tribe jeered and snarled at the half blood that had slain their best hunter. Fjord kept his chin high, baring his teeth at any that dare approach and he clenched his hands tightly around the rope to keep them from visibly shaking.

The unsettling familiarity left Fjord’s skin crawling and his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs but he kept pace with Fireja, the older woman leading him further and further into the camp.

Fjord had nearly given into the urge to bolt when he’d seen the border that could have spanned nearly half of Zadash in tents, fires and cobbled together vehicles and vicious spiked barriers spattered with red and gore.

“ _By our tradition, you will receive Grikga’s possessions but only after you have been allowed to remain by our current chief, Drotjir,”_ Fireja called over her shoulder, the small procession from the hunt leading Fjord and Caleb closer to the centre of the camp, tents parting to reveal the looming structure that reminded Fjord of his father’s residence. Off-white canvas, furs and garments draped around as trophies with a plume of blackened smoke billowing out of the gap in the ceiling; the smell of burning flesh and the bloodied rags and clothing being carted out of the tent had Fjord pulling Caleb closer. He heard the choked whimper from the wizard, the rope tugging painfully on his broken arm but it would have been far more painful if Fjord hadn’t practically had to force feed him one of their two healing potions, a hissed order as the half-orc got themselves some privacy under the illusion of privately disciplining Caleb for tripping over a rock during their journey.

The twisted gleam in some of the orcs eyes at the excuse made it difficult for Fjord to keep down what small amounts of food he’d managed before they’d set off.

“ _The possessions are mine. Whether your chief allows me to stay or not,”_ Fjord growled. Fireja stepped forward, ducking into the fluttering doorway of the chief’s tent, holding it aside for Fjord with a jerk of the head.

“ _Only the living can claim winnings,”_ she replied, her eyes stone and her jaw set. Fjord met her gaze and held it, only breaking eye contact as he passed by, into the chief’s tent.

It was dark. The thick canvas blocked out most of the sunlight, the pale light that did manage to filter in was carved out with the shapes from the chief’s trophies on the outside, casting eerie shadows over the ground and the furs and cloth strewn over the place. A few figures were arranged inside, either splayed out by the fire, teeth buried in blackened and bloodied flesh that looked far too human for Fjord’s liking, or sharpening jagged blades while they watched Fjord like he was a particularly disgusting piece of garbage.

“ _Why do you bring tainted meat into my tent, Fireja_?”

The voice reminded Fjord of a rockslide, harsh and rough with an underlying promise of pain if you don’t get out of the way in time. In the back of the tent, a hulking figure lounged in the furs and fabrics, a cracked piece of bone in his hand serving as a toothpick while he spoke to Fireja. The orcish woman approached, far more casually than most would approach the chief of an orc tribe but he seemed unbothered by it, far more annoyed in Fjord’s presence in his tent.

“ _This is Lahrak. Son of the Infernal in the south. He slew Grikga after the raid on the empirical trash by the roads to the north,_ ” Fireja replied. Drotjir’s gaze shifted to Fjord and he felt his skin itch under the scrutiny.

“ _Grikga was always overzealous. What does the tainted one want?”_ Drotjir drawled, throwing his toothpick into the fire and moving to sit upright.

“ _The **tainted one** wishes for his rightful prize for carving weak flesh from your pack,”_ Fjord’s voice is steady but his pulse is racing, his nails digging into the meat of his hand as he keeps his white-knuckled grip on Caleb’s bindings but he keeps his gaze forward. He can check on Caleb later. He can check his arm, probably get him to drink the other potion-

“ _And this makes you strong? Am I to believe you are of Infernal blood? No tusks, no trophies, **no visible spine**. I can hear your little rabbit heartbeat from here, **boy** ,”_ Drotjir rises from the ground and stalks around the fire, his golden eyes fixed on Fjord, holding his gaze until he stood, looming a full two feet taller before him but Fjord kept his head forward. Caleb couldn’t have understood why, craning his neck to look up at the orc and exposing his throat so when the taloned hand snapped out and gripped tightly, it cut off the choked shout from Caleb before it could be heard properly.

And by the time the sound was silenced, Fjord’s falchion was summoned into his hand and the blade rest on the chief’s arm, a thin line of blood drawn from the callused flesh.

The tent was silent.

“ _I killed Grikga because he **implied** he was going to touch my property. You’ve handled more than most have and still live. Release my things_ ,” Fjord’s words were even, calm and dripping with venom. Caleb was visibly trembling, eyes on Drotjir and breaths laboured but as Fjord spoke, the hand around Caleb’s throat relaxed so it was resting on his skin, a threat more than pressure and the chief looked over Fjord curiously.

“ _Infernal blood comes with more perks than fire, it seems_ ,” Drotjir takes his free hand and places it over the back of the blade. He presses it in deeper so red rolls off his skin and drips into the dirt, leaving the air scented with copper in amongst the smoked flesh and sweat. “ _It’s even sharp,”_ the glint in his eyes and the upward quirk in his lips unsettled Fjord. It was the same look his father had when he realised what he could use Fjord for.

 _“This wasn’t from my father. The weak scum possesses no magic as well as no spine himself. I doubt he even has fire in his veins at this point_ ,” Fjord spat, “ _This is of my own choosing,”_ and with that, Fjord dismissed his falchion, the blade disappearing from between Drotjir’s hands then reappeared at his throat before he could blink. There was a brief moment of thought and then the chief shook in a full bellied laugh, hand releasing Caleb’s throat and pushing him back.

“ _A spirited half-breed_. _I do enjoy your type. Though your pet has no respect. Looking us in the eyes like it does. Bravery like that has its punishments,”_ he pointed out, looking pointedly at Caleb. Fjord’s blood froze.

He turned to Caleb and the man’s eyes were wide and he looked to Fjord for…for something.

“Fjo-“ his voice was raspy and the name was cut off as Fjord dismissed his blade and struck him across the face, hard enough to knock him off balance and to the floor, effectively keeping that name off his lips.

“Keep your eyes down unless asked, you waste of flesh,” Fjord snarled, looking down at Caleb and feeling the eyes of the tribe on him. Was that enough? Was the split lip and the pained gasp as Caleb landed on his bad arm enough?

Fjord stared at Caleb, eyes like stone and teeth bared and Caleb’s gaze averted to the ground.

“Good. Now get up.”

Caleb followed the instruction without hesitation and Fjord could hear a sniff from the other side of the tent.

“ _You will have plenty of time to train him undisturbed in your new tent. Welcome Lahrak. Kros will show your to your tent. Do with Grikga’s possessions as you wish. The hunters leave for their next raid the dawn after next,”_ Drotjir dismissed Fjord with a wave of his arm and Fireja smiled, jerking her head to the tent’s opening as one of the lounging orcs rose from their space and walked out with a grunt.

Fjord took the rope around Caleb’s wrists in his hands and led him outside, following the orc until they stopped at a moderately sized tent, a few treasures displayed on its supports and a comfortable arrangement of furs inside from what Fjord could see beyond the fluttering canvas flap.

“ _I want the shiny cup if you get rid of it,”_ the orc, Kros grunted casually and Fjord waved it off.

“ _Take it. I’m burning the furs and his trinkets bore me_ ,” he grumbled, taking the gold and bloodied clothes off the tent and throwing them onto the ground by the tent. Once he was done stripping the remains of Grikga’s presence from the tent, he stared at Kros with a pointed look and the orc shrugged, taking the abandoned golden plated goblet amongst a few other items with him as he left.

A few steps inside, and a quick securing of the flap to close the tent and Fjord and Caleb were finally alone.

“ _Fucking gods above,”_ Fjord’s hissed curse in orcish seemed to startle Caleb out of whatever spell he’d been under and the man dropped to the ground, knees buckling beneath him and breathing harsh and fast. “Caleb, gods, I’m so sorry. I had to- I had to make it real, I’m sorry. Fuck I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching out to touch the man, to brush away some of the blood dripping down his chin from the bloodied lip. There was a brief flinch but he recovered and allowed the contact.

“I know. You-…You were very convincing,” Caleb murmured. “I am guessing from the interaction and our new… _residence_ , that we are not leaving any time soon,” he mused.

“Doesn’t look like. I’ll…I’ll find something. I’ll get us out. I promise. I’ll get us out,” Fjord murmured, repeating the words over and over again until he could almost believe them himself.

-

The furs and trophies from the tent’s previous owner took the better part of the afternoon to remove, hurriedly scooped up by other occupants of the camp and whatever was left over, Fjord set alight in front of the entrance, giving a firm glare to any who stood by to watch their newest neighbour.

And as the sun dipped below the line of the mountains and the cold crept in, leaving Caleb shivering in his shirt and breeches, Fjord ensured he was lying between Caleb and the entrance to the tent, lying close enough to help shield him from the biting cold, back to back to attempt to share some warmth as Fjord, the grey cloth Fjord wore around his hips and torso removed to act as a poor blanket and as they shivered from the cold until they could fitfully fall asleep, Fjord planned.

He had to keep his promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned from the grave, with new inspiration for this travesty of a fic. I hope you all enjoy it and sorry for the long hiatus on it. <3 Feel free to yell at me over on my art blog, Oakyboo or my general fandom/dnd blog Agentoaky on tumblr.

**_ Chapter Four _ **

Sleep was difficult, the ground cold and unyielding and the noises from the neighbouring tents driving the bliss of unconsciousness away until the dawn sun glowed behind the thick canvas of his tent. Caleb seemed to manage, slow deep breaths pressing his back in even measures against Fjord’s own as the half-orc rose and cracked his stiff joints, stretching aching muscles while he prepared himself for the world outside.

There were voices, noises from outside that warned him of the early-risers nearby. Fjord left the waist sash with Caleb, the measly bit of fabric not much against the cool air inside the tent but it would be better than nothing. He needed to change how he looked. The armour was purchased and the clothes all too human in this area. It would just make it harder and harder to convince them he was the bloodthirsty son of Adrok if, along with his slender, more humanoid features, he wore human clothing. He peered through the slit in the front of his tent, thanking the gods above that Fireja happened to be passing by his tent. While saying she ‘liked’ him was a stretch at best, she at the very least acknowledged and calmly respected his fledgling place within the camp and honoured the unspoken rule of not fucking with his property.

“ _Fireja.”_

His voice caught her by surprise but she returned the greeting with a nod of her own.

“ _Larhak. You have burned all of your new possessions. An intriguing show of pride. How was the cold last night?”_ she asked with a hint of teasing in her tone. He narrowed his eyes as though trying to determine whether she was disrespecting him or just being playful but it seemed to thankfully be the latter. She was older and likely far smarter than Grikga was and he wouldn’t come out of the fight very well.

“ _It was tolerable. I will need to hunt for new furs for my tent and new clothing. This garbage has served its purpose while I was within the empire but I’m sick it. I will be taking my slave with me.”_ His statement was met with an incredulous look from Fireja.

“ _Your flesh-bag is barely capable of walking. It will scare your game away. Leave it here and I will ensure no one plays with your toys while you are away. As a favour,”_ she adds as though it were just that and not a wrench in Fjord’s plan to run in the middle of his hunt and return to his companions behind the relative safety of the empire. “ _Pirik and Gashna are going hunting soon, you will go with them, but they will not enjoy having a human scaring their quarry.”_

“ _I want it to carry my kills. You expect me to waste my effort muling my spoils when I have a slave-“_

 _“If you need hands so much, take the half-breed pups with you. They are quieter and will not run. That is your concern, yes? That it will run if you are not here?”_ she notes, glancing towards the tent with a curious look Fjord couldn’t quite identify. His silence seemed answer enough for her. “ _Go. Hunt. I will watch your…slave_.”

Fjord nodded, ducking back into the tent, touching a gentle hand to Caleb’s shoulder, which seemed to be enough to startle him awake. It pained Fjord to see that moment of confusion, then dawning realisation that drifted into dread.

“ _Ja_ , Fjord? Do we need to move?”

“No, uh. I have to go out. Hunting. I need to collect food and supplies. Fireja is gonna watch you and make sure you don’t get…She’s gonna watch over you. But don’t leave the tent. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“They want you in their hunting party, what is to stop you from leaving? Finding the crownsguard-“

“I killed their lead hunter, Caleb. I’ve taken his possessions and his place with the hunters. Its…Its tradition.” Caleb’s dissatisfaction with that answer was almost palpable as he adjusted the cloth around his shoulders.

“Their traditions-“

“Are the only reason we’re alive,” Fjord bit out, levelling Caleb with a stare that cut the man’s words short. “Drotjir accepted me, we’re here because he decided I’m entertainin’ enough to keep around instead of just stickin’ my head on a pike for decoration and keepin’ you as a slave or livestock. I killed that piece of garbage and now we’ve got a temporary reprieve. But it means pretendin’ I’m one of them. I go out, I hunt, I come back and snarl at a few people when I need to, to keep my position,” he stared at Caleb, seeing the quietly cowed look and the shaking hands and it finally dawned on him.

“Caleb. I would _never_ just _leave you here.”_

“I didn’t-…Please do not think my concern is a reflection on your personality. It would be a reasonable, _rational_ plan. Leave me, return to the crownsguard and…”

“And what? Leave you here with _them_? I know what they do to humans, I know what they do to the property of anyone who burns them like that. In no world does that plan not end with you…I don’t give a shit what’s ‘ _rational_ ’. I leave with you or I’m not leavin’ at all,” Fjord’s words seemed to calm the shaking in Caleb’s hands just a little, the man nodding his head jerkily in acknowledgment with a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Fireja will watch over you. I’ll be back soon. I promise,” Fjord murmurs, giving Caleb a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder before he left Caleb in the tent.

-

Hunting wasn’t something he enjoyed doing. He learned when he was young but he never enjoyed it like his clansmen had or seen it as anything other than a necessary chore and the company most certainly never helped. The half-orc children that followed along, carrying the deer and rabbits they’d collected along the way looked up at him as though he were a hero and a monster all at once and it curdled in his stomach like sour milk. The hunters, Pirik and Gashna, didn’t pay him much mind other than directing him to block of methods of retreat of giving him grunts of approval when he cut down a buck on his own so that was a small mercy after the sneers and outright insults of the others within this clan.

“ _Dire wolves. A good addition to your new tent,”_ Gashna goaded in a whisper as they observed the small pack of three dire wolves ahead of them. The three half-orc boys stayed back, ducked low behind the brush while Pirik snickered, skirting around the pack, readying himself for the assault. Fjord summoned his falchion, fingers digging into the familiar leather of the grip while he waited. Two of them shuffled around their den, while one moved closer, pausing to sniff the air and letting out a low growl that brought the other two in as well.

The first went down quickly as Fjord loosed a shock of eldritch energy towards it, striking it in the centre of its chest and following up with his falchion, feeling the tension drain out of the creature in the split second he had before he had to roll away from the snapping jaws of one of the remaining wolves. He slashed, ducked away to avoid the heaving bulk of the wolves as they pounced, hissing in pain as their claws slashed into his upper arm.

A glance towards the edge of the clearing showed Gashna and Pirik observing, tense and ready to jump in but not to assist. Just to finish off the wolves when they’d finished tearing him to pieces.

A deftly aimed hex at the faster of the two wolves stalled it long enough to fire bolt after bolt of eldritch energy at its pack-mate before he jammed his falchion into the second wolf’s throat, crouching low and waiting for the third. It let out a vicious snarl, eyes gleaming and body tense like a tightly coiled spring, waiting for Fjord to blink.

Its blood was warm where it dripped on his hand, the falchion buried deeply in its chest so Fjord could hear the wet, rasping death rattle before it finally collapsed, its jaws releasing Fjord’s shoulder where it clamped down in its final, fruitless attempt at victory.

“ _I am glad Grikga is dead. He was lazy. Would have made us kill them for him_ ,” Pirik commented, sending in the three half-orc children in to field dress the wolves.

“ _Then I am all the happier for having removed him. If you want a wolf, I will take a boar from you instead,”_ Fjord’s request didn’t seem to raise any eyebrows and the hunting party made their slow return to the camp, Fjord heaving one of the dire wolf carcasses onto his shoulders and barely keeping face. He almost sighed outwardly in relief when he made it to the tent, directing the children to place the kills inside, searching for Caleb’s thin frame within the boundaries of the tent.

He wasn’t there.

His waist-sash was there, folded neatly by the edge of the tent but there was no sign of Caleb. Fjord dismissed the children, sending them back to wherever it was they went when they weren’t assisting the hunters, searching through the mass of orcs frantically for the mop of russet hair. And there he was. Walking beside Fireja with his head down and half-hidden by her looming form, making their way back to his tent.

“ _Where did you take him?”_ Fjord tried to remain calm, to not allow that disturbingly natural snarl to bleed into his words but Fireja didn’t seem to mind the murderous glint to his eyes or the vague underlying threat in his tone.

“ _I took him with me to complete some tasks. Do not worry. The clan know the ember-haired human is yours. And they know better than to bother me when I am working,”_ her tone was casual as she nudged Caleb back towards Fjord. Caleb met his gaze for a moment, a quick nod to say ‘I’m fine’ before ducking his head down again. The speed at which he took to this submissive behaviour brought back that horrible sour feeling in his stomach.

“In the tent. Now,” Fjord bit out, ignoring the way Caleb’s eyes widened at the blood stains on his armour and the gouges in his shoulder and bicep.

“ _You should clean those. Poor form to take the position as lead hunter just to die from a scratch,”_ Fireja threw over her shoulder as she walked away. Fjord swept away the tent-flap and entered, almost immediately being accosted by Caleb, his hands tugging at Fjord’s armour and examining the wounds.

“Stop. I’m fine-“

“You are _bleeding_.”

“I’m fine.”

Caleb’s hand jerked back at Fjord’s tone, sharp and harsh and Fjord had to shake off the low thrum of aggression and anxiety that had been coursing through him since he’d stepped out of the tent that morning. He could feel the tension in his shoulders slip away and the low ache in his left side made itself prominent.

“I’m sorry. I assure you. I’m alright. I was…I was worried. You weren’t here when I got back-“

“Fireja took me with her to her tent, to show me how to skin and dress animals. A clever assumption on her part that it is not my area of specialty,” Caleb noted. “She also provided me with a poultice mixture. Apparently you seem the type to get injured frequently,” he added, producing a small waterskin and a bound cloth filled with a pungent mix of herbs and what looked disturbingly like mud, giving Fjord’s bloodied arm a pointed look.

“…Fine.”

They spent the better part of the next hour cleaning out the gouges in Fjord’s shoulder and arm, coating them in the pungent mixture and tearing apart his cloth wraps to bind them. The mixture numbed the injuries to a degree, making the rest of the evening pass by far easier as he took down part of the tent to make a ventilation gap in the canvass and built a fire, while Caleb breathed his way through skinning and gutting the animals Fjord had brought back.

By the time dusk fell and the shadows of the mountain fell over the camp, the air cooled down to biting temperatures but the fire crackled and warmed the inside of the tent, cooking the boar meat secured on the spit while Caleb eyed the pile of animal skins and leftover meats.

“We need salt and a lot of water. Soon or those will all be useless,” Caleb murmured, looking over to Fjord.

“I’ll go tonight. Hunters leave at dawn tomorrow and I have to be there,” he grunted, rubbing a hand over his face. There’s a tense silence between the two and Fjord hazards a look towards the human, watching him roll down the sleeves of his shirt over his now-blood free arms, meeting Fjord’s eye for a split second and then everting his gaze.

“We’re going to be here a while then, _ja?”_ Caleb asked quietly, taking a seat beside Fjord, picking at the little flecks of red beneath his fingernails.

Fjord didn’t answer. He rose from his spot by the fire, muttering about asking Fireja about salt before he walked out, leaving Caleb alone in the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, hope you all enjoyed the fic, and feel free to yell at me over on my art blog, Oakyboo or my general fandom/dnd blog Agentoaky on tumblr.


	5. Chapter 5

**_ Chapter Five _ **

“Fjord, wake up- Fjord!”

Caleb’s harsh whisper cut through the thin haze of sleep and his blade was in his hand before he was even fully upright, facing the tent’s opening with his teeth bared and hackles raised.

There was only he and Caleb. No intruders tonight. The faint memory of what he’d been dreaming of was slipping through the cracks of his conscious mind, visions of bones-blood- _pain_ , but not his own. The red-speckled pale skin and blood-matted hair was still burned into his retinas as he glanced at Caleb and slowed the rapid breathing and the rabbit-pace of his heartrate left over from the nightmare.

A nightmare, that was all.

“Caleb,” he cleared his throat and dismissed the blade with a wave of his hand without looking the other man in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

“You were restless. You looked to be having a nightmare,” Caleb whispered, a hand reaching out to touch him, hesitating when Fjord tensed but placed his hand on the man’s forearm all the same, his skin still sleep-warm.

“’S nothing. Just dreams. What time is it?” Fjord rubbed a hand over his face, glancing up through the opening in the roof of the tent to try and catch a glimpse of the moon.

“It is a little after three. You should sleep as well.”

Fjord didn’t respond, instead he stood, throwing a couple of extra logs into the small firepit in the centre of the tent before he sat by the tent flap. He picked up the pieces of leather he’d been working on earlier that night, tugging roughly at the cording binding the pieces together while Caleb watched him.

“Fjord-“

“ _I know-“_ his words were in common, but they were still barely recognisable through the harsh tone that bordered on a snarl. “Go to sleep. I can’t-…” he winces as one of the cords snag against his talons and snaps. The thud the sections of leather make when they hit the ground across the tent isn’t satisfying in the least and doesn’t help to calm the steadily rising irritation and frustration that burned just beneath the skin. He dropped his head into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he could see spots.

“Fjord.”

He startles at the feeling of Caleb’s sleep warm hand coming to rest on his shoulder, barely tamping down the instinctive call to his weapon. Caleb says nothing, but his hand drifts down from Fjord’s shoulder to his back, resting just beneath his ribs as they sit in silence, the chirrup of crickets from outside and the grunts and voices further into the camp were muted beneath the crackle of the fire and Fjord’s hammering heart.

“I’m fine,” the words fell easily from him lips but he could almost feel Caleb’s disbelief.

“There is no way you are fine, Fjord.”

“I _have_ to be fine,” he barely recognised the cracking desperation in his voice, head jerking up so he could look Caleb in the eyes, gesturing to the rest of the tent. “I have to be _this_ until we can leave. I _hate this._ I hate that I’m falling back into-…into what I was born into. What I was-…”

Caleb stared at Fjord and Fjord could see the gears turning in his head, see him trying to fashion together a reply while the pair made more eye contact in the past two minutes than they had over the last two days.

“This is not falling, Fjord,” Caleb spoke gently, but his gaze was filled with an intensity that made Fjord’s heart stammer in his chest for a reason beyond the anxiety and one that he was unwilling to unpack at the moment. “You have not fallen into your…into whatever history you had or position you were raised to fill. You are clawing and tearing and fighting every step of this.”

Fjord let out a breath, his head tilting forward and burying his hands in his hair as he allowed some of the tension in his shoulders relax.

“I do not know the specifics of your…origins. But I know the man we have been travelling with is the one I trust with my life,” Caleb either doesn’t notice the light shudder in Fjord’s body or he is just too polite to acknowledge it but the gentle movement up and down his back soothes him.

“Did you…” Fjord swallowed through the lump in his throat, the burn of shame that roiled in his gut.

“Only if you wish to. I had not cast my language comprehension spell and…well I have no components. I have been relying heavily on facial cues. And Fireja’s surprisingly good common,” Caleb murmured. Fjord breathed, slow and even, until he was calm enough to speak, bringing himself to show his face but not quite brave enough to look Caleb in the eyes.

“My name isn’t Fjord. I was born Larhak. My father was Adrok, the Infernal. He’s a chief of the orc tribe further to the south. I…I lived there until I was about…eight? Nine years old? He was grooming me to become a spy. A sad little half-breed they would send into human settlements to sabotage them, to gather information to help my clan raid larger villages, cities. But my mother-…” Fjord’s talons dug into the meats of his palms, the lightest trickle of blood making its way to the ground. “My mother was killed. Adrok killed my mother and I ran.”

Caleb was silent, he could feel the man’s blue eyes trained on him and the brush of his hand on his back had stopped so it was a warm weight against his skin.

“I ran for weeks until I found a village. I told them my family were dead and I was alone. They took care of me. Even-… _fuck._ ” The trembling in his hands intensified and he grit his teeth, closing his eyes so the glow of the fire and the tent that closed in on him would disappear for at least a moment and he could school his breathing once more. “Even when my clan came. They branded me a traitor. I wasn’t Larhak, Son of the Infernal. I became The Forsaken. And they couldn’t leave me be, not when I burned my father like I did. He found me. And he burnt the village to the ground.”

“Fjord-“

“Don’t,” he looked at Caleb, a small part of him expecting to see the disappointment, the _disgust_ he felt in the back of his mind reflected in Caleb’s eyes but instead he was only met with pain, sympathy.

“You were a child. You cannot blame yourself for the actions of your clan. You were _a child_ ,” there was disgust, but not directed to Fjord, the blue irises burning with anger on behalf of the young half-orc that had spent his life looking over his shoulder and blaming himself for the deaths of an entire village. “He found you. How did you escape?”

“A family hid me in their cart. We rode to Port Damali and I lived there for a while. I wasn’t lying entirely. I did live there. I just wasn’t born there. But word travelled, my clan were still looking for me. My clan branded me as Larhak the Forsaken and I’ve been living as Fjord ever since. Cut my hair, kept my tusks filed down, tried to find work as a sailor. Anything to keep me as far from the mountains as I could,” it felt good. Saying all of this out loud, even if he could barely handle the focus on him from his companion, when they had been so tense before all of this mess. The pair sat in silence, letting the crackle of the fire fill the space while Fjord gathered his thoughts and pushed them to the back of his mind where they had been living for over a decade.

“I think I understand you a little better now, Fjord. And I understand how difficult and frightening this must be. And I thank you,” Fjord’s answering look of incredulity made Caleb remove his hand entirely from his back and instead took his. “You could run. You could run and leave me here and you would be fine. But you are…You have not left. And I thank you. For protecting me, and for trusting me with this piece of your life,” his words were a quiet murmur and Fjord felt his breath stutter, eyes darting between Caleb’s and his lips, unsure of how to feel or respond to this.

Caleb gave Fjord’s hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them, drawing himself up off the ground to return to the furs they’d collected in the corner for bedding.

“I think we should rest,” he encouraged and Fjord felt the nervous energy drain from his body, leaving him exhausted. He sniffed, swiping a quick hand over his eyes before he stumbled over to the bedding and dropped into it.

Sleep claimed him so swiftly, he wasn’t quite sure if Caleb did run a hesitant hand through his hair or if maybe that was just wishful thinking.


	6. Chapter 6

**_ Chapter Six _ **

He could feel the bruise that would likely cover his right jaw and the blood trickled its way down his arm from a blade he hadn’t seen in time while he eyed the surrounding orcs, falchion resting just against the skin of an attempted murderer who lay on the ground by his feet. They were still a little ways outside of the camp, returning from a hunt when one of the hunters, one who’s name Fjord couldn’t recall, tried to cut him down. They exchanged a few blows before Fjord managed to pierce their gut, carving it through the thick, callused flesh and leaving a pile of putrid smelling organs where they had slid out from the gaping hole in their torso.

There were two other orcs there, watching Fjord with narrowed eyes and hands tightly gripping their weapons. One of them lunged and everything went hazy. If they spoke, Fjord couldn’t remember, between the roars of anger and sharp jolts of pain, but he recalls his falchion hitting bone on the way through the second orcs ribs and the third spitting at him as they lay bleeding on the ground before they finally went limp.

When the thunder in his head finally stopped ringing, and the bodies before him went still, he realised, for the first time in days, he was alone.

They left the pups at the camp, it was only the four of them. Fjord was _alone_. He looked out through the forest, seeing no movement. He knew the way. He could run. He could get to the military blockade by dusk, then return to the camp the next day. Tell Drotjir they were accosted by the empire, he could _run._

But Caleb would be alone for that entire time. He had seen the other orcs, the vicious desire they had; he knew they wanted to break Caleb. They wanted Caleb only because they knew him as Fjord’s slave and what better insult than breaking someone else’s toys? Fireja would only keep watch over Caleb until dusk, when the hunting parties were set to return. Then Caleb would be alone.

Fjord took one look out towards the empty stretch of road to the southeast through the trees, clenching his jaw, before turning towards the orcs’ bodies and setting to work.

-

“ _Half-breed_ ,” the greeting was probably the most amiable its been since arriving at the camp, Fjord’s presence eliciting grunts of annoyance from the other lounging bodies within Drotjir’s home. “ _Why do you come to my tent?”_ a lazy grin curled across the orc’s face, one of vague interest that morphed into honest surprise when three heads landed in the firepit in the centre of the tent, bloodied and disfigured faces looking up at the chief with dull eyes. Fjord stepped forward, into the light so the speckles and splashes of red across his armour and skin and clothes weren’t dulled by their darkvision.

“ _I do not enjoy being bothered on my hunts.”_ Fjord’s thinly veiled threat caused a din within the canvass walls of the tent, silenced by Drotjir’s raised fist. The chief leant forward, golden eyes almost glowing in the firelight and the grin widened into something unhinged and unsettling. _Delighted._ Fjord spat on the crackling and blackening remains of the heads within the flames, hearing it hiss as he pulled the freshly made chain of tusks around his neck, putting it on display for everyone before him to see.

“ _I will happily add more.”_

No one stops him from leaving, or on the way back to his tent as he walks with his chin and chest jutted out, his new trophy out in the open along with the blood entirely soaking his clothing. Word would travel quickly. It always did.

The dark, twisted satisfaction he felt at making his point ceased, vanishing in exchange for the cold shock of guilt and shame he hid behind a stone face as he saw Caleb, standing just beside Fireja’s tent with a basket of plants in his hands that Fjord vaguely recognised. He nearly dropped them when he saw the state Fjord was in, holding his tongue as his eyes darted around the very public space.

“ _More useless flesh carved from the clan?”_ Fireja’s words barely registered in Fjord’s head on his approach.

“ _Another point made about those who decide irritating me is worth their heads_ ,” Fjord eyes the basket and nods his head pointedly towards the ground, watching with narrowed eyes as Caleb places it down quickly, still in shock and looking Fjord up and down like…

“ _And those heads?”_

_“Are in Drotjir’s fire. The smell will hopefully remind them that my blood has no bearing on my abilities as a warrior. Thank you. For keeping my things from being disturbed.”_

His acknowledgement brought a look of surprise to Fireja’s face but she waved it off.

“He is smart,” her heavily accented common made Caleb’s focus shift to her for a brief moment, “More brains in his skull than in the camp together. And is wary of things he does not understand. Will not poison himself on accident. Of some value. We will learn more,” she demurred, returning to her mortar and pestle, wrapping a small bag of the familiar smelling poultice mixture and throwing it to Caleb. “ _I will send a pup to your tent with water. And word to the other hunters about your new collection.”_

Fjord didn’t respond, jerking his head towards their tent and shoving Caleb in the same direction.

“Move.”

Caleb didn’t hesitate, but his silence was leagues apart from the feigned submission he put on for the clan. It wasn’t because he couldn’t speak to him in front of the others. It was because he couldn’t speak to Fjord at all.

When they finally made it back to the tent, the blood was flaking off Fjord’s skin but the rest was soaked into the leathers and fabric. He’d only just started removing them, back to Caleb while the man stared hard enough that Fjord could feel it in the back of his head, when a child’s head peered into the tent. It was a young boy, features too slender and too sharp to be fully orcish, black hair braided and shorn in an intricate mohawk and set of dark eyes showing a hint of recognition when he looked at Caleb.

“I bring water. Fireja say you need this,” the boy’s stilting common made Fjord pause but beyond his brief glance in his direction, he paid the boy no mind. The child didn’t seem bothered by this. Maybe he preferred it, speaking to Caleb instead of Fjord directly.

“Thank you, Keth. I will take it,” Caleb’s voice was hushed, the gentle sloshing of water and the padding of feet signalling the child’s exit. Fjord had removed his leathers, the ruined cloth wraps, and was in the process of untying the red cord around his waist when Caleb approached, setting the bowl beside him and bringing himself into Fjord’s eye-line. Fjord didn’t look up from his task.

“What happened?”

Caleb’s words were steady, unlike his trembling hands as they came to rest over Fjord’s to stop his movements. The contact was muted, as though Caleb were touching him through layers of cloth instead of his bare skin, and Fjord found himself glancing up, face still carved out of stone as he met the human’s gaze.

“Somethin’ necessary,” he said with a gravel-rough voice, pulling his hands free of Caleb’s to continue his task.

“And the…” a pale hand gestured to the necklace of tusks.

“Like I said. Somethin’ necessary.”

-

\---

-

Fjord adjusted the leathers he’d fashioned together, tightening the red cord he’d woven into the leather ties and brushing the furs down in place, the pleasant numbness of the poultice in his injuries alleviating some of the stress. Caleb was quiet, nudging the wood in the fire while their food cooked above it. They hadn’t shared a word since Fjord had brushed him off, tending to his own wounds and cleaning the mess of blood and viscera from his skin and hair without sparing a glance towards Caleb.

“When you’re here without me, do the others bother you?”

Caleb seemed caught off guard by the question. Or by Fjord initiating the conversation in the first place, he wasn’t quite sure.

“No more than they do if you are here.”

“That ain’t encouragin’,” all he received was a non-committal shrug. “I’m taking you hunting with me from now on. I made a point and most of ‘em will back off. Some’ll see it as a challenge.”

“You have made it clear you can take care of yourself. They would risk attacking you again?” Caleb’s words were met with a poignant look from Fjord and the half-orc could see the gears click into place in his head and the colour drain from his face. “Oh.”

“Like I said. You go huntin’ with me.”

Caleb sat up straight, eyes wide and staring at something that didn’t exist within the tent. Fjord felt his heart sink into his stomach. The unseeing eyes and the sudden quiet. Was Caleb having an episode? There was only the fire in the pit, no violence, no death, but maybe that wasn’t always the trigger. Fjord didn’t know how to break him out of it, Molly had mentioned doing it once but Fjord didn’t know how. He didn’t remember, what if he can’t? No no no _no_.

“Caleb? Caleb, talk to me-“

Caleb’s lips turned up into a smile and he looked to Fjord.

“I can hear you Nott. I can only _reply_ to your messages.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, everyone. Writer's block has been kicking my ass lately. I hope you like the newest installment and hopefully I'm able to get more out much sooner. <3 As always feel free to comment below or hit me up on tumblr on oakyboo.

**_ Chapter Seven _ **

“ **Fjord, I’m by the barricades, meet me there,”** Nott’s voice echoed through Fjord’s head, bringing him relief and anxiety all at once.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Fjord’s reply brought Caleb to his feet, a questing hand curling around his forearm.

“She is alright?”

“Yeah, yeah she’s fine. She’s by the barricades. Wants us to meet her there,” Fjord ducks his head out of the tent, seeing a few orcs wandering the camp, preparing to bed down for the evening. Fjord turns back to look over Caleb, seeing the minor tremor in his hands, fear or anticipation, he couldn’t quite tell. “You stay behind me, don’t let go of this and keep your head down.”

Caleb doesn’t speak, he only jerks his head in a quick nod, keeping his eyes to the ground and wrapping the red cord around his wrists in a mimicry of the way they were fastened when he’d arrived. The pair made their way through the camp, quietly, avoiding the path of any of the orcs who had yet to close themselves away in their tents. Halfway there, the barricades just coming into view and Nott’s voice rang through his head again.

“ **I see you both, HURRY, GO!”**

“Where are you, I don’t see you,” Fjord’s eyes scanned over the barricades, finally spotting a half-orc child, their hands covering their mouth, a flicker of arcane energy sparking in their hands as another message rang through his head.

“ **I’m the little kid, you’re nearly- CALEB!”**

That was all the warning Fjord got, reaching the last row of tents before he feels a tug from the cord cinched around his waist and chest. He only got a quick view of Caleb, held above the ground with a clawed green hand circling his throat, and then he was struck in the head, his vision blurring and his ears ringing over the gruff voice snarling above him.

“- _u’d try to run. Little half-breed shit.”_

“ _…What?”_ Fjord clutched his head, grunting in pain when a foot slammed into his gut. Caleb was a few feet away, scratching at the hand wrapped around his throat but he was growing sluggish, his eyes growing hazy and his lips turning blue.

“ _Tried to run. You’re a spy, aren’t you? Runnin’ off to daddy and bringing him back to take over, you’re gonna pay for that-“_ Fjord didn’t let him finish, summoning his falchion and driving it into the orcs foot. The orc howled in pain and insult as Fjord’s vision cleared again and he could see the crowd gathering around them. A glance over to the barricades and he could still see Nott, watching them with her daggers drawn, ready to rush in.

Fjord discreetly shakes his head and waves a hand off. Nott hesitates, another spark emanating from her hands.

“ **I need to save you.”**

Fjord grit his teeth and whispered back in reply.

“ _If you attack,_ you will die.”

Another spark.

**“I want to try.”**

Fjord looked up, feeling the shift in the air nearby as Caleb kicks weakly, his eyes fluttering shut. Fjord rips the sword from the orc’s foot and swings it in a wide arc, feeling twisted satisfaction at how the orc screeches when its arm hangs limply at its side by a few strands of flesh while Caleb’s body hits the ground, still for a few seconds longer than Fjord’s already hammering heart can tolerate before he coughs, hoarse and gasping as he tries to fill his starving lungs.

Fjord looks to the orcs circling around him, letting out a bellowing roar. Another glance and Nott is still there, hands gripping the barricade.

“ **Fjord. Will you be okay?”**

“…Go.”

Nott’s form vanishes from view while the orcs remain, weapons raised but still hesitating.

“ _If I were some spy, would I be stumbling out of camp in full view like some crippled foal? I wished to hunt, so I was leaving to hunt,”_ Fjord’s vicious snarl cowed some of the orcs into backing up a step but a few still towered over him, a familiar head of long salt-and-pepper hair coming into view.

 _“Interesting time to go. Before rest, and with your flesh-bag. No other hands or eyes. I have had him for tasks and he is not capable of bearing the game you return with. If you wish to hunt, take the pups to carry your collection,”_ Fireja’s tone may have been a suggestion to some but even Fjord could tell the underlying threat, the implication that she knew he was running. He held her gaze, keeping his head high as he dismissed his blade.

 _“Fine,”_ he sets his cold glare on the orc that had been holding Caleb, clutching its now useless stump to its chest. “ _I have said before. Do not touch my things,”_ he snarls, grabbing Caleb’s limp arm and dragging him to his feet.

“ _Brand them and no one will make the mistake._ ”

Fjord shook off the suggestion, not turning back while he roughly pulled a still stumbling Caleb back to the tent. When they were finally alone, he led him to the pile of furs, sitting him down and forcing his waterskein into his hands.

“Fjo-“

He winced at the hoarseness in his voice and the hacking coughs that followed.

“Don’t talk,” Fjord’s teeth creak at the way he clenches his jaw while gentle hands run over the raw flesh of Caleb’s throat, carefully turning his head from side to side.

“What do-“

“I said _‘don’t’!”_

The barked order silenced the wizard but he watched Fjord with a curious expression he couldn’t place. A quick scrounge through the tent and he found some of the poultice mixture still remaining. Its now familiar smell invaded Fjord’s sense as he applied it with careful fingers to the raw and blood-spotted flesh of Caleb’s throat, taking care not to look into the wizard’s eyes which he could almost feel on him. When the mixture was finally depleted, Fjord stood and walked out of the tent, a mumbled ‘I’ll be back’ following him out while Caleb remained.

-

\--

-

When Fjord finally returned, hours later, filthy and with a far cooler temperament, he placed a small piece of cloth wrapped around small pieces of bark.

“Chew them. It helps,” Fjord’s murmured instruction was directed at the wall of the tent, the man having yet to look Caleb directly in the eye yet. The wizard looked over the bark- willow?- and hesitantly put it between his teeth, chewing carefully.

“Fjord.”

Caleb’s voice was still rough, quiet and the sound of it grated on Fjord’s nerves in the worst way, grinding away the fronts of bravery and steadiness in him until it left the guilt and anxiety to well up from beneath the surface.

“Please don’t talk. You’ll mess up your throat more,” the plea was far more subdued than the snapped instruction before he’d left but it still left Caleb feeling uneasy.

Fjord didn’t notice Caleb had moved until a hand rested on his arm and Caleb’s face ducked into view. He gave Fjord a smile, ‘I’m okay’, it urged, ‘we’ll be okay’.

As Fjord let his head hang and he fought off the tremors in his hands and the waves of hopelessness at their failed escape, he cursed Caleb for being a better liar than he was. He could almost believe him from that smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**_ Chapter Eight _ **

It’s two days before another attempt was made on Caleb; a choked gasp when he’s pulled by the collar from the main path between the rows of tents, Fjord’s back slowly filtering through the crowd.

“Larhak!”

Fjord pauses and turns, a brief moment of shock warping into outrage as he snarls viciously in orcish at the figure holding Caleb in place; a brief exchange barely escaping turning into unrestrained violence that ended with Fjord dragging Caleb close to his side, wrapping the red cord around his wrist again tightly as they continued on to Fireja’s tent before Fjord had to leave for his hunt.

Caleb wanted to ask what they had said but held his tongue in the public space, watching Fireja’s bone and herb strewn tent come into view. The woman in question was seated outside, sharpening her blades as two half-orc children, Keth and another little boy he didn’t recognise, mixed red clay into paints and rushed to hand them out to a small gathering of orcs all applying the paint in intricate patterns and broad smears alike.

Fjord and Fireja exchange words, Fireja looking strangely non-chalant as Fjord grew increasingly agitated, the half-orc children pausing in their work and shuffling uncomfortably. Fjord’s jaw clenched and he threw a comment over his shoulder, stalking back to the tent. He put on a good front but Caleb could see the way his right hand was crackling at the fingertips, the sparks of energy that always preceded his sword appearing out of whichever pocket dimension it resided in. But he kept it at bay, ducking into the tent and pulling Caleb in with him.

“What’s going on?”

Fjord buried his hands in his own hair and tugged what he could, holding it while he took a breath in and let it out again slowly, the sparks subsiding.

“They’re goin’ for a raid. They cancelled the hunt on account of the massive empire convoy coming through the pass nearby, headin’ to Pride’s Call. They’re gonna take it,” Fjord’s tone was unsettling. Flat. Even. It made the hairs on the back of Caleb’s neck stand up as he watched his companion.

“And you?”

“…I’m one of the leadin’ hunters. I have to attend.”

“You cannot decline?” Caleb unwrapped the red cord from his wrist but kept a hold of it and running his fingers over the smooth fibres, needing the occupation of his hands and a connection to the man who was in front of him and gone at the same time.

“After the other day, I’m on watch. It’ll be even more damnin’ if I don’t go. I need to keep up appearances.”

“But what if…Fjord, the empire soldiers will not let you take their shipment quietly.”

“I know. Caleb. Fireja is going as well. I have no one here to watch over you,” Fjord finally met Caleb’s gaze and he saw that glimmer of panic beneath the veneer of calm he realised was more for Fjord’s sake than Caleb’s. “You cannot leave the tent. Under no circumstances do you leave this tent until I get back.”

“ _Ja_. I understand. Do….Do what you need to do to keep yourself safe,” Caleb’s words dimmed the panic in Fjord’s eyes but it left the half-orc a completely blank slate. Fjord nodded and left the tent, looking to the world like a man on his way to the chopping block.

The next he saw of his was as Fjord walked past with the rest of the hunting party, face adorned with paint and eyes trained ahead of him, vanishing beyond the barricades before Caleb fastened the tent flap closed.

-

\--

-

After two hours, Caleb was done wearing a hole in the ground of the tent with his pacing. There was no indication of when the party would return, or even if they would. But considering how quickly the blockade they had originally been by had been overrun, Caleb didn’t like the empire’s chances. He drank from the waterskin left in the tent and rearranged the furs he and Fjord slept on, twice.

After four hours, Caleb would have given his left kidney for something to read, to take his mind off of the muted noise of the surrounding camp, the relative silence within the tent, and the anxiety slowly rising in his chest as he waited for Fjord to return.

After seven hours, he hears cheering and triumphant roars as a crowd passed by the entrance to the tent, on their way to the communal firepit the rest of the camp frequented but that Fjord avoided like the plague. Caleb waited five minutes. Then he peeked out through the gap in the tent flaps. The hunting party had returned and were dividing their spoils, dragging crates and bodies, with the occasional person, tied up and gagged but with no visible empire emblems on them.

The familiar head of black hair with the shock of white appeared amongst the crowd and Caleb slipped back further into the tent, making quick work of the rope fastening the flap closed. Fjord ducked into the space, two smaller figures, orcish children, behind him for a brief moment as they dragged in a moderately sized crate and a large sack that clanked and jingled as it hit the ground. They murmured something to Fjord in orcish, he responded in a low rumble, distant and stumbling in its cadence, and jerked his head to dismiss them.

Even if Caleb could understand what was being said, his focus was being drawn to the large splashes of tacky red blood on Fjord’s armour and skin. None of it his. When the wizard took a tentative step towards Fjord, his golden eyes trained on his in a flash. There was still that unsettling blankness to his expression, not the false calm he’d exuded earlier but something entirely walling Fjord off; not registering Caleb as ‘friend’ or ‘companion’ but just as something that moved nearby. Fjord seemed to settle a little, gaze shifting to his own hands, with the red cast over his skin in broad strokes, turning his hands over, back and forth in front of him.

“I-…I had to.”

Caleb said nothing. He stayed in Fjord’s eye-line and approached, slowly reaching out to move him further into the tent, towards the bowl they’d set aside for washing.

“I had to.”

He repeated that phrase a few more times before going entirely silent but Caleb could almost hear him repeating this new mantra in his head. A poor barrier over what was becoming a gaping hole in Fjord’s resolve to keep from truly becoming Larhak.

Caleb just helped him clean up and murmured a quiet ‘I know’ in reply.

-

\--

-

Fjord woke later in the night with a choked gasp, dragging Caleb from his light sleep as he sat up and faced the fire, back cast in shadow and shoulders hunched forward with his head in his hands while the tent’s silence was only broken by the pop-crackle of the burning oak.

Neither went back to sleep that night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking around even when its taking me so long between chapters. Bless your hearts and I hope you don't hate me too much by the end of this story. <3 As always, feel free to hmu on tumblr at Oakyboo for questions or just general screaming or just in the comments below.

**_ Chapter Nine _ **

As the days shifted into weeks, Fjord grew more and more withdrawn, more easily provoked by the other orcs, who, after the high of their successful destruction of the convoy returned to their usual prodding and testing of the half-orc, paying particular attention to Caleb. Fjord took to maintaining physical contact; a hand on his shoulder, around his wrist, even (during one especially brazen attack) on the back of his neck as he shoved him back towards the tent while the orcs spat insults through their ruined teeth.

Caleb didn’t return to Fireja’s tent, instead Fjord instructed him to remain in their own, since she would be attending hunts more frequently. He found even in Fjord’s presence, the orcs were keen on…acquiring him, but when they were inside the thin canvass walls of their temporary home, none bothered him. Fjord only provided insight after a number of days of Caleb skirting around the issue, not wanting to heap another pile of straw to the already straining camel. The conversation came up after they’d taken inventory of the items from Fjord’s first raid; some of which Caleb declared to be components of his spellcraft that he could use, the memory of the written spell from his book still locked in his mind. A little bag of iron pieces being the best find (samples from a mine?) that he pocketed before finishing up the task and joining Fjord by the fire.

“They know you’re smarter than the average person they bring back from their raids. Its useful to some and the fact that it’d piss me off is an added bonus, plus, you’re unbranded. The act of branding property  is _fun_ to the others. But even if you were marked by me, they’d still try it. If its inside the tent and we haven’t been publicly burned by Drotjir, its off-limits but once you leave the tent, all bets are off,” Fjord’s quiet drawl over their evening meal was miles better than his normal reticence even if the subject matter left Caleb unsettled.

“So, there is no form of branding or mark of ownership they will see as irrefutable?”

The way Fjord’s eyes darted to Caleb’s neck and the uncomfortable shuffle may have been subtle enough to pass off as a twitch, but Caleb knew better seeing as the pair resided in such close quarters.

“Fjord.”

“No.”

“No there is no mark?”

Another fidget and the normally teal-green of his cheeks darkened in…embarrassment?

“Its…Its complicated, Caleb. Its not the same as brand. Its not _just_ …” Fjord tried to gather the words while the flush and the stammering became more and more prominent, as the realisation clicked into place in Caleb’s head and his own face and ears flushed red.

“… _Oh_.”

“I considered it. But there’s… _requirements_. And its…shit, Caleb if I thought it would work, if I thought it was drastic enough to… _stake my claim_ ,” the words sounded as though they were pulled from his mouth like teeth, “But that’s…I won’t. Just stay close and that’ll be enough.”

“And when it isn’t enough?” Fjord’s discomfort faded at Caleb’s question and left him stony faced, turned towards the fire but the wizard continued. “This mark. It is of ownership, _ja?_ I am already playing the slave. Why not just alter my role?”

The dramatic shift of expressions Fjord’s face ran through was almost impossible to categorise, beyond the general realisation; something that made Fjord’s entire face and down into his neck go _dark_ while his eyes ran Caleb up and down, then jerking back to his senses with something (disgust? Caleb considered with no small degree of hurt) as he jolted back onto his feet, putting the fire between himself and the man, a scattered mix of orcish and common curses spilling from his mouth.

“That’s not- It’s not like throwing a ring on and playin’ house, Caleb. I…It’s a _claiming mark_. It’s a bite, somethin’ deep enough to scar, to be…to be _permanent._ ”

“I have enough scars that one more will not-…” Caleb watched Fjord pace back and forth. He could see it now. That sneer of disgust wasn’t towards Caleb. He was disgusted with himself. He-

“Caleb-“ Fjord’s voice was rough, a plea and a threat all at once.

“Fjord-“

“ _Don’t-“_

“It…It wouldn’t be an act for you. Would it?”

The exhale that escaped Fjord’s chest looked like it made him visibly deflate, shrinking from the broad, barrelling façade he put on outside and that slipped into their shared space within the tent, to a huddled shameful thing, gritting his teeth for fear of adding evidence to this ‘accusation’.

“It was not _only_ a consideration. You entertained the thought. It _appealed_ to you.”

The stretch of silence in the tent was stifling while Fjord’s jaw clenched, looking like he was going to vomit, pacing back and forth, keeping the fire between himself and Caleb while the wizard’s gaze followed him back and forth, slowly processing everything, trying to understand.

“I… _entertained_ the idea and I hate that I didn’t…that I _didn’t_ hate it. The idea of… _fuck_ , I hate this. The killing, the posturing, the goddamn _everything_ \- I feel like I’m losin’ a little bit of myself every day and” he rubbed furiously at his face, trying to fend off the welling tears before rasping his admission to the floor, unable to look the other man in the eyes. “…Fuck, Caleb that _scares me_. And I feel like marking you, that’s just putting the nail in Fjord’s coffin and I’ll just be…I’ll be _him_.”

Caleb was stunned by this information but it was quickly overrun by the concern he felt for Fjord, seeing that frantic, wild look in his eyes, looking to Caleb for something stable before he fell completely. He reached out, tentative and gentle as he placed his hand on Fjord’s shoulder and lightly squeezed, watching the man in front of him lean into the contact instinctively, searching for comfort.

“I know who you are, Fjord. Even if, just for a little while, you are not sure. I am sorry for proposing what must be a…frightening suggestion. I am attempting to be pragmatic but it should not be done by compromising your ability to separate yourself from…from your _façade_ ,” Caleb’s emphasis on the word made Fjord draw a deep breath as he calmed, centring himself. “But, if proximity no longer suffices…we may need to consider this further.”

Fjord nodded, golden eyes closed and a hand reaching up to circle lightly around Caleb wrist while his hand still rest on Fjord’s skin, just allowing himself the contact before withdrawing, murmuring something about sleep.

Later that night while the pair were starting to drift off, Caleb felt Fjord’s hand come to rest by his wrist once more, hesitant in the way he curled his fingers around it. Caleb peered at him past the fog of sleep and piles of furs that made up their sleeping space and saw Fjord’s searching gaze; a question and a plea.

Caleb slid his hand into Fjord’s and brought them both to his chest. It seemed to settle Fjord enough to close his eyes and finally fall into sleep’s embrace.

-

\--

-

Days after their conversation, Fjord was still teetering on the fence between cracking under the pressure of his forced persona and completely succumbing to the darker pieces of himself that showed after particularly rough days when he returned with a far off look and bloodied clothes or the nightmares that woke him in the night with a choked cry and shaking hands that sought out Caleb’s as some sort of anchor (but always asking without words, always asking before he encroached regardless of Caleb’s ever-given ‘yes’).

He was finding it harder and harder to keep himself separate from Larhak.

While Fjord was out on another raid (growing more and more frequent as winter loomed on the horizon), Nott’s voice echoed in Caleb’s head a few days later, a welcome reminder that beyond the constant threat of violence and leering grins from the other residents of the camp, their friends were alright and working on a way to help them escape. And her message helped build that hope in his chest.

“ **The crownsguard are planning an attack. You can reply to this message,”** her voice was hushed, likely ducked by the barricades again, hiding from onlookers.

“ _Danke göttern,_ when is it planned?”

Silence.

**“In one week. Can you hold out ‘til-“**

A commotion as Nott’s voice cut off suddenly. Shouting by the entrance to the camp and the screech of a familiar voice.

Caleb’s heart stopped in his chest and all the thoughts in his head, screaming at him that the camp beyond the tent was dangerous, _‘once you leave, all bets are off’_ ; they disappeared.

He scrambled outside, blinking in the light of the sun until his vision focused and he was met with the sight of an orc, holding Nott up by her hair, roaring something in orcish and bringing a blade up to cleave her in half.

The iron pieces in his pocket jingled as he drew one out, the familiar hand motions and incantation unused for so long but still as natural as they’d been before as he cast his spell and the orc froze in place, along with one that had been advancing on them.

He only had a minute.

He sprinted forward, digging his nail in to pry the orc’s hands apart while its muffled snarls faded in the background and he got all of Nott’s hair free and she fell to the ground with a shriek. Caleb pulled her to her feet and started for the barricades.

“You need to run, we need to go before they-“

A hand came down on his shoulder.

They broke out of it. He didn’t think they could so soon. He thought he had more time. He thought-

The panic increased as he was dragged back by a broad hand, shifting from his shoulder to around his chest as he was picked up, kicking and shouting, and the second orc, spitting something he couldn’t understand as they kicked Nott, throwing her back.

He screamed her name even after she vanished beyond the rows and tents until a blow to his head sent the whole world spinning. Then it went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone so excited at the prospect of Nott rescuing Caleb: I'm so sorry guys. <3


	10. Chapter 10

**_ Chapter Ten _ **

Caleb woke to voices. Voices and pain.

Both of the voices were familiar. One was the ever-even voice of Fireja, stern but bordering on aggressive in the face of Fjord, who was almost animalistic in the way he spat and roared.

It took a few moments for him to take stock of where he was and what had happened. He remembered Nott, coming to send him the message (the crownsguard, a week?), getting caught, being _kicked_ (was she okay, was she _alive?)_ and he was dragged away.

But a hit to the head wouldn’t account for the searing pain spreading from his lower back up to his shoulder blades or what was likely a few bruised, if not fractured, ribs that made every breath stutter in his chest from the effort. His arms were tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth that forced his jaw down painfully, a quick shift of his legs and he felt ropes bite into the flesh of his ankles as well.

The groan as he came to was involuntary, a product of the pain that assaulted his senses. The noise in the room went quiet and he heard movement, feet stumbling towards him and hands on him, jostling his ribs and forcing a shout from that was muffled by the dirty fabric in his mouth.

The hand released him quickly.

And Fjord’s voice returned, louder, closer, but faced away from him.

As the argument continued, Caleb opened his eyes and saw a familiar setting. His and Fjord’s tent. He was lying on the furs, facing the back of the tent, not quite able to bring himself to turn over to see what was going on. Eventually, Fireja snapped something at Fjord that made him go quiet and the shifting of canvas and the silence that followed allowed Caleb a little more time to collect his thoughts.

The hands returned, untying the ropes around his wrists and ankles, then the person shifted to the other side of him, so he could look up at Fjord’s still-painted face, the red applied in a way that sharpened his features into something gaunt and skull-like.

And he was _livid._

He was silent as he removed the gag, turning Caleb’s head gently from side to side to examine the raw marks left behind by the cloth, then brushing aside the torn remains of his shirt to look at his ribcage.

He was silent as he probed at the skin on Caleb’s back, around what had to be deep gouges (lash marks, he vaguely recalled them feeling the same from his time in prison).

Fjord was silent as he examined Caleb’s injuries, cataloguing them while his expression turned from vicious anger into something blank. Trancelike.

Then he rose to his feet, moved around Caleb and, with shaking, clenched fists, stalked to the opening of the tent, summoning his falchion on the way, and vanishing from sight.

Caleb wasn’t sure how long he lay on his side, trying to minimise which damaged parts of his touched the ground and decided that the potential infection from exposing the still raw and weeping wounds on his back was far less preferable than that occasional sharp pain but otherwise dull, steady ache of his ribs against any surface. But eventually, Fjord returned, limping, bloodied and still shaking with now directionless wrath, one hand flicking out at he dismissed the falchion and the other clutching a familiar, large pouch. But his face was still painfully blank. He brought himself down onto his knees, dragging the wash bowl and the clean rags they kept for injuries, starting on cleaning Caleb’s back with gentle, precise movements.

“Sorry,” a quiet utterance, when he drew a pained hiss from Caleb. It was automatic, devoid of strong emotion but still not insincere. Caleb murmured a dismissal and tried to remain as still as possible until Fjord had managed to clean his wounds and wrapped them as carefully as he could, pausing for a moment before arranging them so they wouldn’t bind around his ribs.

“Jester…Jester said that. Right? ‘Don’t bind ribs’. ‘It can make people really sick instead of helpin’ them heal’,” he sounded unsure, but still wrapped them as far away from the steadily blossoming marks marring his pale skin.

“That does sound familiar.”

“Are you…fuck, of course you’re not _fuckin’ okay_ -“ he rolled back onto his heels, digging his nails into the meat of his thighs, taking breath after measured breath to check the obvious rage building up in him again.

“No. I am not,” Caleb’s agreeance just worsened the tremor in Fjord’s shoulders. “Fjord. I-… I know what you are thinking and-“

“ _And what?!”_ The snarl startled Caleb as Fjord’s attention focused solely on him, making the wizard’s hair stand on end and that lizard brain in the back of his skull scream at him to run from the predator baring its fangs at him from no more than three feet away. “ _’_ and’ what, Caleb? I left you alone and the one time you needed me here, _I was out slaughtering empire citizens_ , _and burning their homes to the ground_. I was out playing the part of a monster to keep you safe and here you are, beaten half to death, _unconscious in our tent_ , rescued by one of the fucks that’s keeping us from leaving.”

“Its not-“

“ _Don’t you fucking say it.”_

Caleb held his tongue. Fjord took a deep breath and a disturbing calm settle over him, like the glass-still surface of a lake that was still swarming with vicious monsters.

“I…I’m done. I can’t. I can’t do this and keep a hold of myself anymore. Its not-…You told me that we’d need to start considerin’…”

“You were away, Fjord. You could not help that I left the tent. I left to rescue Nott. Is she-?”

“I heard,” he fixed Caleb with the same stone face. “And she made it out. You did what you had to and I have no doubt that if you hadn’t left the tent, then Nott would be in pieces over a fire right now. The only aspect that could have changed how those events went about was that without me or my mark, you are unprotected.”

“And you are proposing this mark will protect me in a way that you could not if you were present? You have been vague, you have made implications but I still do not fully understand how this mark differs from a brand or mere proximity,” Caleb shifted himself until he was sitting upright, supported by the densest layer of pelts and not much else, waving off Fjord’s instinctive reach to assist.

“It’s an unspoken thing in orc culture for the most part. A brand is a mark that tells everyone that that thing is owned by us. A claiming bite would tell them that _you are mine_.”

“There is a difference?”

“Anyone can own property, it can be taken, it can be damaged and the consequences are minimal. If I claimed you…it is not a declaration of ownership. It would define you as my mate.”

Caleb had suspected as much, the deeply unpleasant nature of discussing it with an outsider, of suggesting that he claim someone for the sake of anything other than its intended purpose but hearing it, stated so plainly by Fjord…explained clearly instead of skirted around. Like it was a necessary piece of information for Caleb now.

“Do you intend on…You believe we have reached a state of necessity?”

Fjord seemed to finally lose steam, the righteous anger and vicious determination leaving him for a moment and he looked _tired_. Down to his core being; he wouldn’t be able to keep up this façade without devoting all of his focus and energy to it.

“I need you to stay alive. And I can’t be here all the time. At least if Drotjir does wise up, then they’ll still second guess attacking you.”

“Because I would be your mate?”

Fjord nodded, rubbing his eyes with his hands, as if it would help remove the exhaustion presenting there.

“Mates are something we’ll protect to the death. Its not just a way of keeping track of our favourites, or saying ‘they’re taken’. It’s a warning. If something happens to you…Caleb, this mark, its me giving a piece of myself to you. You will always have some degree of control over me and I will always see you as mine. Its not something that’ll fade with time or distance. I’m not even sure I could take distance from you if we go through with this. And if someone were to hurt you, I would stop at nothing to _tear them to pieces_. This ain’t an embellishment or an exaggeration. This is a fact.”

Caleb mulled over it, trying to straighten everything out in his head when Nott’s message came back to him.

“Nott, while she was here. She told me the crownsguard will be here to stage an assault in one week. Is it possible for us to survive until then without forcing you to…I don’t want you to take this action beyond necessity.”

“Caleb, Fireja just about disavowed us when she walked out of this tent. I’m surprised no one’s come to cut us down already. I don’t think we’ll survive two days,” he admitted, making Caleb’s blood run cold but Fjord still sat there, shoulders slumped and energy depleted. “This is up to you. I will do what I can to protect you. But I…I’m tired, Caleb. I can’t take being…me. Not when I have to do what I do to people, when I have to be this _monster_. And if I have to be a monster, I might as well go all out and give you the protection you need to make it the week.”

“You won’t be a monster, Fjord.”

The warlock scoffed, smiling without mirth. This was the attitude of a man on his way to the gallows. Fjord had likened it to putting the final nail in the coffin of this side of him, but perhaps to him this was less metaphorical that it sounded.

“Caleb, I have killed more innocent people since we’ve been here than I’ve killed murderers and crooks and monsters in my entire life. I killed them to keep us alive. If you die…I can’t. I’m giving _you_ this choice because I know my feelings on it. My feelings on you.”

“Your-…Are you telling me you are…is this a _confession_?”

The half-orc started to laugh, something detached, cradling his head in his hands as they morphed into exhausted sobs.

“Fuck. I guess it is? I care about you Caleb. A lot. If it were any other circumstance, I think it could’ve been a crush. But this? This isn’t affection or romantic attachment,” he raises his head, wiping the tears off his face and clearing his throat. “I…I see you as my mate already, honestly? The claiming mark would only solidify it… _Fuck_. How fucked up is that? Took this clusterfuck of a situation to make me realise I’m in love with you,” He hunched in on himself, forming a barrier with his arms while he breathed through the tears and hysterical laughter.

“Are you certain?”

“Shit, Caleb. I don’t know,” Fjord’s sarcasm would have been playful if it weren’t for the painful way the words sounded coming out of his mouth. “Maybe its perfectly normal to want to _scent_ your buddies, or entertain the thought of _permanently marking them for life_ because the thought of someone else touching them is actually _physically painful_. You cracked the fuckin’ case.”

Caleb was quiet. This was…there were no words for it. He watched his friend, his only companion for however long now, breaking down before him, backed into a corner by their circumstances. And he was willing to bind himself to Caleb, to give him a colossal degree of control, of deeply ingrained influence over him, because the alternative was death or worse. Complete loss of himself with nothing to ground him to who he was.

He needed Caleb to keep that piece of him while the rest was swept away by the tides of red and viscera he was drowning in.

“Alright.”

Fjord’s laughter petered off until he was only clearing his throat and looking up through glassy eyes at Caleb.

“’Alright’?”

“Yes,” Caleb’s tone was firm, he shuffled closer to Fjord, seeing the man jerk backwards instinctively, as thought the wizard were alight and it would catch him as well. “This is…These circumstances necessitate drastic measures and honestly, Fjord, there are worse people to spend a lifetime bound to than handsome half-orcs with more charm than sense.”

“Pfah. What a way to win a guy’s heart.”

“It is the truth. But,” Caleb leant forward, pressing the hand he wasn’t using to steady himself with against Fjord’s cheek and curling it around the back of his neck. He heard the whisper of a sigh escape Fjord’s lips at the contact when he tilted their heads together so they shared the same breath, so he could feel Fjord’s warmth enveloping him. “I agree. In another circumstance this could have been something…something not this. Not tainted with violence and pain. But I will take it if it means we can leave together and I will not regret a single day spent with you after the fact. So yes. Give me the mark.”

Fjord seemed to struggle beneath his hand, torn between pulling away in shame and leaning into the comfort. Then he finally relented. He nodded, gently butting his forehead against Caleb’s.

“I’m so sorry, Caleb,” the words came out as a gentle sob and Caleb murmured an absolution, tilting his head up so his lips brushed against Fjord’s forehead…then he angled his head to the side and tensed, waiting.

Fjord’s hand shook.

Caleb was still.

Fjord’s arms wrapped around Caleb’s waist.

Caleb returned the gesture.

Fjord had his nose buried in Caleb’s neck one moment, breathing in his scent, then the next, Caleb screamed in pain as Fjord’s teeth were buried in his neck, and tears dripped onto the skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along on this journey with me. It's looking like chapter 11 is going to be the final chapter (there may be an epilogue but that'll definitely be it). Feel free to comment, hmu on tumblr at Oakyboo and bless you all for giving me the motivation to get through just about 20 000 words of this angst filled trainwreck. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME TO THE FINAL CHAPTER, I want to thank everyone that stuck around for this trek of a fic, I'm so glad it turned out so well and I got such good responses for it. <3 I'm considering one-shot's within the Rage, Rage universe, feel free to comment ideas or requests, or message me on tumblr at Oakyboo and I'll absolutely work on some stuff.
> 
> Thank you all again and love you all <3

**_ Chapter Eleven _ **

“What is taking them so long?”

“It’s the fucking empire, Nott, they can’t wipe their own asses without Empirical Permission.”

“We should just charge in ourselves, they can clean up our mess behind us,” Jester’s declaration was followed by her trying to push her way to the front of the line up of empire military, just for Molly’s hand to curl around her arm and keep her there.

“We need to wait. Nott didn’t even make it into the gate and she was nearly beaten to death. Patience. We’ll get them back.”

The cleric deflated, watching the banners waving in the air at the front of the mass of armour and bodies.

“How far away was the camp, Nott?”

“Just past that hill.”

“So, where that smoke is coming from?” Molly pointed one clawed finger at the steadily growing plume of smoke rising from above the crest of the hill. The voices of the soldiers around the grew until there was a dull roar, everything going quiet again as, in the distance, an echoing bellow rose and fell back into silence. Then two figures appeared, one taller and broader than the other, clutching the slimmer one’s hand as they sprinted.

Molly let out a vibrant curse in infernal, squinting in the bright light of the sun.

“Is that _them?!”_

“GO, GO, GO, GO!”

Jester’s voice boomed five times louder than natural, spurring the soldiers on, so they all rushed forward, just as dots of green and racing figures also appeared at the top of the hill, giving chase to the two escaping individuals.

The next few moments were a blur; Molly set his swords alight, Nott took a swig from her flask and fired frantically at the army of figures chasing behind what had to be her boy and their friend. As they got closer, the changes became apparent. Fjord was definitely larger, arms thicker and more heavily muscled from where they were entirely exposed, with his normal leather armour stripped and replaced with a mesh of braided and fur-trimmed leathers. The familiar red cord was still present, interwoven in with the braiding.

He dragged Caleb behind him, the wizard in his original trousers but his normal beige shirt was replaced with an overlarge, blood spattered tunic, clutching something in his free hand that was too small to see.

“THEY GOT OUT! FJORD, CALEB! WE’RE OVER HERE!” Jester and Nott’s cries as they sprinted through the sea of bodies heading into the fray were drowned out nearly entirely, the words falling from their lips when, as Fjord and Caleb breached into the line of empire soldiers, (and the soldiers knew who they were rescuing; they’d received Jester’s sketches with implications that should they accidentally harm either man, they would die painfully), as soon as one soldier made contact with Caleb, a hand on his arm, pulling him out of the line of fire, Fjord froze in place.

Then he _roared._

It was the most chilling thing Jester had ever witnessed, followed immediately by Fjord, taking his falchion and swinging it at the soldier.

“Fjord what the fuck are you doing!?”

Molly had gotten closer, weaving between the armour and banners and swords until he could see Fjord and Caleb clearly. Three soldiers were restraining Fjord and barely succeeding as he thrashed and howled, trying to get to Caleb, who was being pulled away by a confused and frantic looking infantryman.

“Hey, handsome, you need to calm down, they’re here to help!” Molly shouted, but one look in Fjord’s eyes and he stumbled back. He’d seen this look before, in a mixed set of blue and violet eyes. He was deep in a rage and the cause…

“Let go of Caleb, he can walk on his own,” Molly ordered. “Do it!” The man hesitated but another snarl from Fjord forced his hand to release. Fjord stopped thrashing almost immediately but glared viciously at the soldier who had been touching Caleb. The men holding Fjord back slowly released him, ready to stop him if he should rush the single guard and attack again but Caleb swept in, taking Fjord’s free hand in his and holding it to his chest.

“It is alright. I am _alright_. But we need to go now, Fjord.”

The golden eyes finally seemed to snap into recognition and he nodded, keeping a tight hold of Caleb’s hand as they joined Molly and weaved through the soldiers who had already met with the orc forces behind them, screams, roars and the clashing of metal on metal slowly fading behind them.

Molly noticed how Fjord kept Caleb on the opposite side to Molly as well, eliminating as much possible contact to him as he could from anyone that passed by.

He looked at Caleb and the man didn’t seem to pay it any mind. He actively kept out of the way, clutching Fjord’s hand tightly.

What the fuck happened?

-

\--

-

Once the Nein were clear of the battlefield, (and by the appearance of the piles of felled orcs, it seemed the empire were nearing victory) they travelled down the road, the majority of the party piled into the back of the cart, Molly steering and splitting his focus between the road (empty and stable) and the newly regained pair who were curled up, bloody and exhausted, in the corner of the cart. And per Fjord’s new modus operandi, Caleb was sequestered in the corner itself while Fjord was making an impressive mimicry of a flesh barrier, keeping any of the other members of the Nein from touching him.

Nott had made to approach and so had Jester at the sight of blood and bruising but he had outright snarled at them, going so far as to raise a hand at Nott before Caleb dragged him back and murmured something to him, calming him quickly into his new constant state of ornery reticence.

All Caleb had offered was ‘I will explain when we have stopped’.

Nott had apparently noticed something because she was sitting in the opposite corner from the pair, glaring daggers at the half-orc. Not that he paid much mind. They’d each drunk a potion Molly threw to Fjord before they piled into the cart and got on the move, the next town now only thirty minutes down the road.

“Why aren’t we talking,” Jester piped up, closing her journal with a snap and a frustrated flick of her tail. “We haven’t seen you both for over two months and we’re just going to sit here in silence?”

“Jester. They’ve had a long, shitty time,” Molly coaxed but Caleb waved it off.

“It has been an ordeal. Our new…this new situation will need to be discussed in a more secluded setting than the back of a cart and preferably with some nice mead,” the cart went over a bump in the road and he winced, getting an immediate reaction from Fjord, the half-orc reaching for his shirt and pushing it up high enough to reveal the heavily mottled ribs.

“Still bad? You drank the whole potion, right?”

“Yes, Fjord, I did.”

“Do you need more?”

Caleb covered Fjord’s hand with his and urged him to replace the shirt, a pointed look in Fjord’s direction.

“I am alright. Please,” his statement, despite entirely disregarding the amount of pain he had to be in from the injury, Fjord returned to his original position, albeit a little more closely curled into Caleb’s space, so his arm was resting along the edge of the cart for the wizard to rest his head on.

“At least rest a little while we’re here.”

“Fine.”

It was alien to see the pair behave so naturally with each other, the casual touches that bordered, if not directly fit into _tender_ , the meaningful looks. It was a far cry from the civil distance they maintained after the events in the High Richtor’s home, seeing Caleb close his eyes and allow his head to roll onto Fjord’s chest and Fjord resting his cheek against Caleb’s head so his nose was pressed into the clean, albeit a little sooty, russet waves.

Molly forced his eyes back onto the road, thankful that the outline of buildings and an increase in people sightings meant they were close to some answers.

-

\--

-

A few drinks, a number of room keys and all piling into one room later, Caleb spoke up, Fjord still remaining quiet at his side, taking the occasional deep pull of his whiskey, with an arm just brushing the edge of wrapping around Caleb’s waist so they inhabited the same space.

“I apologise for Fjord’s… _reaction_. Once he’s settled into himself a little more, I am sure he will also apologise,” Caleb nudged the man with his shoulder, receiving a nod and a quiet ‘sorry’ in response.

“Why did he react like that? Fjord, the soldiers were there to help, why attack them? I know they’re assholes, but they were actually being helpful for once,” Beau asked, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“He touched you,” Nott answered, receiving an almost guilty look from Caleb. Tilted her head incredulously.

“And _touching_ Caleb is such a big problem, when?”

“Since Fjord claimed him. That’s what that mark is, isn’t it, Caleb?” Nott’s voice hovered in a dark territory, the tone setting off some switch in Fjord’s head and he was rocking forward in his seat, a low rumble in his chest but Nott stood her ground while Caleb brushed a hand up Fjord’s back, the rumbling stopping quickly.

“It is. During our…During our time there, Fjord attempted to ensure my safety. I had no magic, no weapons and I am wholly unequipped to go toe-to-to with enemies of that nature. So, he took the brunt of it,” the admission was almost shameful in nature and he shrunk a little in place, but Fjord raised the arm behind Caleb and brushed it against his neck just beneath the length of hair and the motion received a quiet ‘thank you’ before he continued. “He managed to convince them he was one of them, but it was still a vicious cycle of provocation and violence. When you came that final time, Nott, Fjord was not nearby. I was alone, and I was seen as an easy target.”

Fjord tensed, taking a deep breath but keeping that anger bubbling up in check, as Molly and Yasha sent a pointed look to each other.

“I was badly injured and _both of us_ , decided that using this… _cultural element_ was a better alternative than…than some pretty shitty possibilities.”

“When you say ‘claimed’,” Beau waved a finger between the two. “Does this mean…what, you’re like, orc-married?”

“Bonded for the rest of their lives,” Nott snapped, “You can get divorced, you can’t be ‘unclaimed’.”

“That’s not an issue,” Fjord spoke up, voice gravelly from lack of use and the burn of the firewhiskey after so long on just water and the occasional herbal treatment.

“It isn’t?”

Yasha’s even-voice asked curiously. Fjord glanced down at Caleb, looking almost unsure of Caleb’s answer.

“No, it isn’t,” the statement was for Fjord just as much as everyone else. “It was a choice made out of necessity but I have no regrets in regards to it. So Nott, please stop looking at Fjord like he had a sword to my neck,” he pointed out and she let out a small huff.

“So the stab-happy thing is your way of showing affection now?” Molly fiddled with on of his crescent moon earrings, running the tip of his nail over the surface. “How long do you expect until we can go near Caleb without worrying about being fileted?”

“At least a little while. Especially after spending so long pretending to be an entirely different person as he was. For the time being, sleep and some time to adjust would be appreciated,” Caleb asked and the room gave murmurs of agreement, making no argument when Fjord and Caleb left the room.

The pair heard the rest of the party resume their hushed conversation inside the room but paid it no mind. They would answer questions as they came but tonight, Fjord pulled Caleb into the room with him, closing and locking the door behind them.

“How are your ribs?” Fjord’s questing hands ran softly underneath the heated, bruised skin, applying no pressure, just brushing up and down the stretch of skin.

“Sore, but fine enough to heal on their own. No need to waste another potion.”

“Tch, its not ‘wasting’ when its keeping you healthy,” Fjord grumbled back but his hands drifted away anyway and came to rest on Caleb’s hips pressing his nose and lips to the shorter man’s hair. “I _am_ sorry. I-…”

“I know. We will work on it. Being with our friends will help. They will help us stay safe and they’ll help remind you of who you want to be,” Caleb urged, slowly shifting them towards the bed, which was a damn sight better than the pile of furs.

“How’s the…” Fjord’s fingers graze the edge of the scabbed over bite would on his shoulder, withdrawing when Caleb twitched. But he just brought Fjord’s hand to his cheek and offered him a gentle smile.

“Its fine. Now, we should sleep. We can discuss this more in the morning.”

Fjord nodded, bringing his lips to Caleb’s forehead in a chaste kiss. They’d yet to share a proper kiss yet, restricting themselves to these approximations, until they felt more themselves. Until it felt less like the tainted version of what could have been but for the time being, it would do. Fjord shuffled Caleb onto the bed, taking the side closest to the door and bracketing him between the wall and his own body, arms curled around his wait and beneath his head.

“Good night,” Caleb murmurs, getting a quiet murmur in reply from the already half asleep half orc. For the first time in a long while, they slept uninterrupted in the comfort of each other’s arms.


End file.
